


kiss away young thrills and kills

by GerryStAmour



Series: Jupeter requests! (requests CLOSED | 6/17 Completed) [1]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: (juno is barely in this i'm so sorry), I don't know how to tag this, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse (brief&vague), Kissing, Other, Trans Peter Nureyev, blatant mag criticism, like that's not relevant so much just you need to Know, no betas we die like mne, nureyev and juno are so stupid in canon love with each other its not even fucking funny y'all, peter nureyev and the mortifying ordeal of aging, peter nureyev is sad about his age while his cougar boyfriend loves him dearly, v touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27690505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GerryStAmour/pseuds/GerryStAmour
Summary: Thirty-eight.Peter Nureyev had turned thirty-eight, and he had slept through it.-Request from daily-thots-ofhistory on Tumblr~
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Series: Jupeter requests! (requests CLOSED | 6/17 Completed) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024980
Comments: 48
Kudos: 123





	kiss away young thrills and kills

**Author's Note:**

> _**daily-thots-ofhistory** said: for the fic request, Nureyev's first birthday with Juno (whether that's really his birthday or Juno just giving him a birthday or something else! Whatever you'd like!)_
> 
> So I took a few liberties, with it being super introspective and whatnot, and not super focused on jupeter. Hopefully, the requester likes it! ;p

Peter woke up in Juno’s bed, yet the former detective was nowhere to be found. However, the sheets next to him were still warm when he slid his cool fingers across the soft linen. Juno had probably gotten up to get a head-start on his morning, maybe even secure a shower first before the other ladies aboard the Carte Blanche beat him to it.

With a tired yawn and a languid stretch, Peter rolled over to grab his comms off of the bedside table to check the time. When he did, he also caught the date and froze.

Thirty-eight.

Peter Nureyev had turned thirty-eight, and he had  _ slept _ through it. Well, he hadn’t quite  _ slept _ through it, given the ache in his thighs and hips and the pleasant memories of the night before. But midnight had come and gone, and he had forgotten to mark it with every bit of melodrama he could muster. 

It had been the closest thing to a “tradition” he had for his birthday, watching the seconds tick down until the clock read four zeroes and the date moved forward. Then he would turn his gaze to a mirror and study his face, his hair, the skin of his throat and chest, looking for the evidence of his body failing him, as if the difference between 23:59 and 00:00 would change him as much as a full decade would have.

Peter would stare for what felt like hours, pulling his sagging face tight, poking at the dark bags under his eyes, sliding his tongue along his yellowing teeth. Objectively, he knew all along most of this worry had been in his head, that his face was still mostly smooth, his teeth perfect and white, and the bags under his eyes easily concealed. Objectively, he knew that even if all of those ideas had been true, they hardly actually mattered, least of all to his beloved detective.

Thirty-eight.

Peter was all of a sudden too old to round down to thirty-five, but still too young to round up to forty—not that he wanted to round  _ up _ . He was officially, completely, in his late thirties, and he wasn’t sure where that left him emotionally.

At present, he was lying in his lover’s bed, rubbing the still-warm spot where Juno had been laying, and pondering linear time. He wondered whether it made sense to rail against it so hard, and if he should feel bad for being the way he was about his age and appearance.

But when he’d been travelling alone, all he had  _ were _ his looks. 

Sure, Peter had wit and charm, too, but it was mostly looks that got him in the door. Nothing disarmed a rich idiot like a pretty face. 

But as he aged, Peter had quickly learned the unspoken rule the hard way. Rich idiots didn’t just want a pretty face to own and call theirs, they wanted pretty and  _ young _ faces.

The first time a mark had scoffed at him for attempting a seduction when there were softer, younger, more inexperienced young men to choose from, Peter wasn’t sure who he was more disgusted with; the near ancient art dealer chasing after people only a quarter of his age, or himself for thinking he could compete. Later he had known it was the former, if the liberal use of his knife had been anything to go by, but there was still a fair bit of shame due to the latter. 

It had been after that job when he began his entire routine of painstakingly covering up every single flaw he found.

Thirty-eight. 

The same age Juno had been when they met. Things had… shifted after meeting Juno Steel. 

Seeing the way the lady held himself in his oversized trench coat and thick turtleneck sweater, the way he had worn every single minute of his own thirty-eight years on his face and his shoulders had moved  _ something _ into focus. The time they spent in Miasma’s tomb, the days he went without his make-up, without the touch-up dye for his roots, even without a  _ toothbrush _ . Yet without fail, every time he caught Juno looking at him, Juno had seemed… stunned, blown away. His desire for Peter had been unmistakable.

Even during that terrible time, Juno had  _ wanted _ him.

Of course, that hadn’t cured him of his anxiety regarding his continued usefulness and success with his waning appearance. 

For a time—a period of forty-eight hours cumulatively—he  _ had _ considered letting his silver hair grow out, as Juno’s had been allowed to. If his beautiful, dear detective could look his age, why not Peter? Together, he didn’t have to depend on his appearance, his desirability on its own.

Then Juno had left, and Peter was back to his old ways. There was no avoiding it, he told himself, and so he returned to dying his hair, doing up his face in oppressive layers of concealer and other make-up, to working his body through long hours or stretches, work-out routines, and yoga.

Things had changed again when he joined the crew aboard the Carte Blanche. With Juno’s return. He had found himself the youngest on the crew, the “baby” as Rita would exclaim when it was brought up, and suddenly every fear and anxiety he had seemed… petty, and even mean to say aloud, even jokingly. 

How could he think himself ruined by a grey hair when their captain had half of her face  _ rotting _ from radiation? How could he complain about the self-inflicted ache in his neck and shoulders when the rest of the crew had their own plentiful aches with far less room to criticize themselves for it yet never make a sound about them?

It had been a startling revelation during one of his nightly conversations with Juno that his fixation with his appearance had begun when he was with Mag. There had been different heists where they had depended on Peter’s baby-face, and when he began growing  _ out _ of said baby-face, those jobs were jeopardized. He could remember the day his appearance had sharpened enough that Mag decided it was better to age him  _ up _ with his presentation and adjusted their jobs accordingly. It was something Mag had claimed required sacrifice, and discomfort even.

Peter hadn’t realized just how far he had carried that man’s teachings in that regard. It had been so tightly packed away in the farthest reaches of his mind, something he kept hidden away since he was seventeen.

Ultimately, it had been a comment from Vespa of all people that had made him truly think about his nonsense. 

They were preparing for a heist, something small for some money, just fleecing some rich idiot for as much as they could. It was just after his leg had healed and they got off that planet, and he and Juno were going in as a married couple. Peter had questioned Buddy’s insistence on that cover every time, but she had blown off the question, instead informing him that they were executing their plan the following day.

Peter had, largely without pausing to consider his words, idly mention needing dye, that all of his existing stores had been destroyed when the ship crashed into the ocean.

“The hell do you need hair-dye for,  _ Ransom _ ?” Vespa had bit out around her mouthful of dinner. 

“Well, if you haven’t noticed, my roots have grown in quite a bit and—” Peter had started, pointedly ignoring Juno’s grumbling.

“You’re s’posed to look like a married couple,” Vespa interrupted with an eye-roll. “You can’t go in there looking twenty-five when Steel looks  _ forty _ .”

“But I—why—I don’t look twenty-five,” Peter argued, furrowing his brow.

“It doesn’t matter how old you look,  _ Ransom _ ! We get it, you’re used to working alone,  _ whatever _ ,” Vespa snapped before she took a breath. “When you’re working with someone else, it’s better to match _. _ So if you dye  _ your  _ hair, Juno has to dye  _ his _ .”

“But—”

“For this job, you can’t look like a trophy husband, Pete,” Buddy said, seemingly annoyed by the interruption to the family meeting. “You would stand out. I will gladly pick you up some dye  _ after _ the job to sooth your ego, but not before. Now, can we get back on track?”

They were right, of course. That didn’t mean he particularly  _ liked _ it. But he  _ couldn’t _ continue to get away with making himself look younger and younger while he ran with a band of thieves who were all clearly older than him. 

Peter wasn’t exactly  _ graceful _ in his allowance for aging, of course, but he was working on it. He started by allowing the silver in his hair to grow in, and wearing less concealing make-up around the Carte Blanche. He hadn’t thought he had made much progress in the “being okay with aging” angle of his growth and unpacking of his emotional baggage.

Yet there he was, lying in bed on his thirty-eighth birthday, stunned he had  _ missed _ it. He hadn’t just  _ missed _ it, he realized, but he had forgotten it was coming up at all.

Peter was startled from his thoughts as an arm slid around his waist, skin warm and damp from a shower. “Sorry, babe,” Juno whispered against his shoulder blade. “Didn’t realize you were that far away.”

That was one of Juno’s probing statements; when Juno had a question and wanted the answer, but would have dropped if Peter didn’t respond. That simple statement was equal parts apology for the startle, and inquiring after what had him so distracted. It would have been so easy to say he had just been daydreaming, to roll over and distract Juno with kisses and gentle touches, but…

“It’s my birthday,” Peter whispered, and if it hadn’t been for the way Juno stiffened against his back, he would have thought the former detective hadn’t heard him.

“It is?” Juno’s voice was strained as he asked it, and Peter realized belatedly his error.

“Don’t you worry your pretty head, my love,” Peter reassured him gently, covering the hand splayed over his lower abdomen with his own and tangling their fingers together. “I hadn’t said anything about it. I usually don’t—this is the first birthday in a very long time I haven’t been alone for.”

“Oh,” Juno whispered, and Peter shivered at the kiss pressed to the centre of his back. “Is there anything you wanted to do?”

“Mm,” Peter hummed, rolling over in Juno’s arm to kiss him chastely, warmth bursting in his chest at the hesitance in Juno’s voice. “Perhaps we can… stay in bed? Together?”

Juno smiled against his lips and laughed. “Yeah, Nureyev, I think we can,” he replied and then asked, “Anything else I can do for you?”

“You’ve already done more than enough, love,” Peter replied softly, tucking his head under Juno’s chin. “Just being here is perfect.”

“Sap,” Juno grumbled, and Peter laughed.

“And you love me for it,” he replied, smirking as he felt the heat of Juno’s flush crawl down his neck.

“So what if I do?” Juno grumbled petulantly, and Peter laughed at that.

“Say it,” Peter said, but it was more of a question, really. A request for reassurance. At the last moment, he softened it with a quiet, “Please?”

“ _ Fine _ ,” Juno grumbled jokingly, pulling back so his mismatched eyes met Peter’s own. The prosthetic for his implant was always a few shades different than his natural eye, which Peter was fairly convinced was an intentional choice of Juno’s. 

With a grin, Juno added, “Peter Nureyev, I love you, and I love that you’re a sap, and no I will literally  _ never _ stop complaining about it.”

Peter smiled at that and accepted the kiss Juno had for him, sighing as it deepened and allowing himself to be rolled onto his back, Juno slotting in between his legs with a soft sound of his own.

“Hey,” Juno said, pulling back and biting his lip nervously. “How about I make that one dish I made a few weeks ago? The one with the flatbread thing you like so much?”

“Why would you make something so time-consuming?” Peter asked, truly puzzled. “Plus, we had decided it uses too much of our supplies, but doesn’t make enough for the crew.”

“I wasn’t going to make it for the crew, Nureyev. I want to make it for  _ you _ ,” Juno replied with a laugh. 

Peter blinked at him a bit dumbly, before asking, “For… me? But why?”

“It’s your birthday, babe. I want it to be a nice one,” Juno said, seeming a bit puzzled. “I mean, I get not liking your birthday, but that doesn't mean I can’t do something nice, right?”

“Oh, you’ve already done enough for me, love,” Peter sighed, pulling Juno into a solid kiss to distract him from the tears that had filled his eyes.

Yes, he still hated that time moved ever forward, and yes, he had another year at least of unpacking to possibly be “okay” with it. There was a chance he would always have the nagging voice of Mag in his head pointing out each new wrinkle, every new patch of silver hair growing in.

But he had his beautiful detective in his arms, and a family out in the halls of the Carte Blanche if he would reach out and accept them… he couldn’t reasonably ask for much more on his thirty-eighth birthday.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](HTTP://gerrystamour.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](HTTP://twitter.com/petootnureyev)!
> 
> I also have a server for 21yo+ fans of TPP, which include Y2K babies! [Click here for more information](https://tppadultserver.carrd.co/)!


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